


The Workshop

by betawho



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/pseuds/betawho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor loves to tinker...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Workshop

"So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” River poked her head into the cluttered Tardis workshop. The Doctor, in his shirtsleeves, was bent over a complicated doodad on the central workbench, a pair of heavy goggles over his eyes. 

He looked up, his hair messy, his bobbing quiff singed at the edges. 

“Why? Were you looking for me?” He scrubbed the back of one grubbily gloved hand over his cheek, leaving a streak of black soot. 

River grinned. She sauntered into the workroom, looking around, carefully detouring around heaps of junk, parts, and half assembled or disassembled (depending on your viewpoint) machinery scattered across the floor. 

“This place could use a good clean,” she commented off hand, pulling the drape of her pretty summer dress aside as a static mechanical claw offered some oil to decorate it with. 

The Doctor instantly whipped out a finger at her. “Don’t you touch _anything!_ If you clean, I won’t be able to find anything again!” He scowled behind his goggles. 

She looked at him, her eyebrows climbing in disbelief. “Do I _look_ to you like the cleaning sort, sweetie?” 

His finger wilted. “Uh...”

She grinned. She _had_ rather trapped him into that. No matter what he said, he’d come out the loser. A tidy bit of verbal sparing if she did say so. 

She shook her head at him. “I’m just surprised the Tardis hasn’t organized it all for you, is all.” She swiped a disdainful finger over the soot covered workbench, not quite touching the surface. “Even I’m not this messy when I clean my guns.”

“Yes, well,” he pulled off the goggles and tossed them into a clattering pile of junk on the table. “It has been accumulating for a while.”

She grinned at him affectionately, mouth twisting. He was totally impossible, but he was adorable. 

“What are you working on?” she asked, setting the housecleaning topic aside. 

His eyes lit up. He flourished a satisfied handwave at the compilation of electronic parts in front of him. It looked ready to topple over. 

“I designed a new homing beacon!” He beamed down at it, then scratched his nose thoughtfully. “Adric took my last one. Or my last but one, I don’t remember. But,” he turned and grinned up at her, eyes gleaming, eyebrows wiggling in his excitement, “with my Companions always getting lost and getting separated, I figured a way for them to find the Tardis would be a good thing.”

“Excellent idea, sweetie,” she brushed the hair out of his sweaty face. She looked down at the toppling pile of components. It was the size of a lunchbox. 

“I still have to miniaturize it, and hook it into the Tardis telepathic circuits, and find a spare key to go with it,” he looked around distractedly, as if expecting to find a spare key perched conveniently atop all the junk. 

“I can miniaturize it to fit into the head of the key, that way they can get in when they find it, be safe,” he muttered to himself, as if he had forgotten she was there, already re-absorbed into his problem. 

“Sweetie,” she breathed the word warmly in his ear. He jumped and turned and stared up at her, blinking furiously, his hand rubbed at his ear, she couldn’t tell if he was rubbing the sensation out, or in. 

She grinned, “I completely agree that keeping your Companions safe is a top priority. But we’re going to be late for Amy’s Birthday party.”

His eyes suddenly rounded as if she’d just dropped a grenade down his shorts. 

He jumped up, almost knocking her down, he did knock down the stool he’d been sitting on. “Oh no!” he looked around frantically. “I came in here looking for a present!” He gestured wildly, then noticed the greasy-sooty state of his hands, “I need a bath! I don’t have a present! We’re going to be late! She’ll _kill_ me!” He turned in frantic circles, searching for a quick gift idea, pulling at his already messy hair. 

River laughed. She grabbed his hands and kissed him on his one clean knuckle. “Relax. I bought her a gift for you.” She saw the horrified look in his eye. She grinned. “Jewelry, she’ll like it. I reserved the naughty negligee from me.” 

He almost wilted with relief. 

“But we landed three hours ago, sweetie,” she pointed out. 

He stared in renewed gibbering panic. He jumped toward the door, stopped and jumped back toward his invention, stopped and turned another frantic circle. Then he darted forward and pecked a kiss on her cheek. 

“You’re the best, River. Thank you!” He turned, arms waving, “I’ve got to take a bath! We’ll be late! I’ve got the perfect bowtie to wear!” He streamed out of the workroom, still gibbering to himself. 

River grinned and shook her head. She did love him, but he had a brain full of marbles. 

She tilted her head to make sure he’d gone down the hallway. Then she turned and nudged a wire on his device, resoldering it in place with a quick squeak of the sonic screwdriver. She pocketed the screwdriver to return to him later. Then patted the pile of components. 

There, now it would work.

—

* * *

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